


In Which Combeferre Reads To Enjolras

by whatpassesformymind



Series: Paint Splatters [AU] [4]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatpassesformymind/pseuds/whatpassesformymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is ill, and Courfeyrac takes the best photos ever. Set sometime after In Which Enjolras Is [Not] Apollo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Combeferre Reads To Enjolras

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely because I felt like writing Combeferre being cute. I have no other excuses for this.

The room was spinning and blurry at the edges. His head was pounding and his stomach threatened to empty itself as Enjolras stood.

He dressed carefully, stopping frequently to let his stomach settle, and left his bedroom. He had a class this morning, and he must attend.

* * *

 

Combeferre glanced up briefly as Enjolras entered the room, then looked back up almost instantly. Enjolras looked _terrible_. He was pale and sweaty, hands shaking. He appeared to be on the verge of collapsing.

“Where do you think you’re going in this state?” he questioned, standing and taking Enjolras’ arm.

“I have a class in twenty minutes!”

“You’re not going Enjolras. You’re ill,” Combeferre forced Enjolras back into his room, pulling his bag from his shoulder as they went.

“I’ll be fine in a moment Combeferre, really. Now let me go!”

Combeferre shook his head, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed.

“Arms up,” he ordered. Enjolras scowled, but obeyed. Combeferre gently pulled his jumper over his head, folding it and placing it on the chair. The shirt followed it, and he folded his arms sternly until Enjolras removed his trousers.

He still had to push Enjolras into the bed, and then extracted several promises not to move before leaving the room.

He returned with a bucket, a glass of water, and two tablets. Enjolras had not moved, but from the state of the bedcovers Combeferre suspected it was more from weakness than lack of trying.

[from: Combeferre | to: Jehan | 08:56]

_Enjolras is sick. Don’t let Joly panic, but let the others know._

“Are you going to go back to sleep?” Combeferre asked, concern colouring his voice. Instead of a response, Enjolras tugged the bucket towards him. Combeferre turned away from the sight of his friend vomiting, and fetched a cloth.

* * *

 

Enjolras spent the day insisting that he was fine, trying to work, and throwing up every time he attempted to get up. Combeferre patiently cleaned up after him and forced him back into bed, privately thinking that Enjolras ought to be knocked unconscious for the duration of his illness.

* * *

 

It was early evening, just after dinner, when Combeferre entered the room to find Enjolras no longer working, but just staring at the ceiling with an expression of great discomfort on his face.

“You need anything?” he asked, counting the hours since he’d last given him medication.

“I can’t sleep.” There was a pause before Enjolras continued. “It hurts.”

“I can’t give you more meds for an hour or so.” He rested his hand briefly on Enjolras’ forehead.

“Will you read to me?” Enjolras asked in a small voice.

He only hesitated for a moment. If he was going to catch the bug, he would have already. Combeferre chose a book at random from Enjolras’ bookshelf, and perched on the bed. He read quietly, and his voice was soothing. Enjolras let the words carry him away.

* * *

 

One hour and a fairly substantial amount of ‘The Book Thief’ later, Combeferre was almost lying down with Enjolras curled against him, head resting on his shoulder. Whenever Combeferre paused in his reading, Enjolras would shift and start to wake.

He read on, voice becoming rough from tiredness and the hours reading.

* * *

 

Jehan entered the apartment cautiously, using his spare key to unlock the front door. Courfeyrac followed him in, while Joly stood by the door anxiously. There were no signs of life in the space, despite it being almost midday. He set the cans of soup and a book of poetry on the kitchen counter before going to check the bedrooms.

Enjolras and Combeferre were curled together on the bed, Enjolras wrapped around him. A book, well read and horribly mistreated, lay spine up on Combeferre’s chest.

Courfeyrac looked over his shoulder and almost squealed in delight, whipping his phone out and snapping several pictures before Jehan could stop him. They tiptoed away, Courfeyrac waving his phone at Joly and mouthing something unintelligible.

He started speaking the second the front door closed behind them.

“Oh but they look so _cute_! Enjolras was _snuggling_ , Jehan, actually snuggling up to Combeferre!”

“Oh my! Combeferre is sure to catch whatever it is,” Joly fretted. Courfeyrac waved away his worries and gleefully began uploading the photos to Facebook.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanons: When Enjolras is ill or in pain, he becomes very clingy and fond of human contact. He also has a slightly unhealthy love for any form of historical fiction - no matter how bad or good, how historically inaccurate - whether it was set fifty years ago or thousands of years ago, he loves it.


End file.
